Career Advice
by nadagio
Summary: Mid-OotP Interlude. It's Hermione's turn for career advising, but McGonagall can't make it to their appointment.


I knock heavily on the door, but the thick wood resonates only slightly with a muted thud in response.

"Enter."

It is a smooth, drawling voice. A _man's_ voice. Decidedly _not_ Professor McGonagall's voice.

I feel foolish immediately after, but I nonetheless look about in confusion. No, this is most certainly her office.

"I said _enter,_" Professor Snape's voice calls impatiently, and hastily I do so, my previous excitement for my appointment giving way to dread as I approach the desk where he sits.

"Professor McGonagall-" I begin hesitantly, questioning.

"The _Deputy Headmistress,_" he interrupts, sifting though a large pile of the same career pamphlets I'd studied over the break with a sniff, "is unfortunately indisposed." Probably subduing Umbridge or mock-scolding another of the students who'd taken Fred and George's departure from Hogwarts as a call-to-arms.

"And as her schedule is terribly... busy," he continues, "today's appointments cannot be rescheduled. Thus-" his spidery hands halt in their movements and his dark eyes snap up to stare into mine. "I have the... dubious pleasure of dispensing _advice_ to you and your classmates. To _guide_ you on paths toward your no doubt... bright, futures."

He couldn't have made it sound any more like an unpleasant chore akin to shoveling thestral dung if he'd tried, and I'm sure he did try. Or perhaps that unending disdain is innate. Oh, how did I get stuck with Professor Snape for this meeting? Such a dreadful man. At least Umbridge isn't sitting in the back with her clipboard, as she had with poor Harry.

"Sit, Miss Granger."

I sit.

There is a moment of silence in which Snape sneers, and I stare at his yellow, crooked teeth with horrified fascination. They're so much more distracting up close like this. My parents would love to get their hands on him for a 'before-after.'

"Which of your classes do you plan to continue taking?" He says finally.

"Eh-All of them?" Damn it. Was that a statement or a question, Hermione?

His eyes narrow.

"You are taking _eleven_ O.W.L.s, Miss Granger. Even someone as... obsessed and over-reaching as yourself must realize that you cannot possibly have the time and energy to devote to _eleven_ N.E.W.T. subjects." I say nothing, he gives an impatient huff. "Which classes are _vital_ to your chosen career?"

I sink down in my chair, feeling a failure. I may have studied all the career pamphlets we were given with great care, but I still have no idea what I want to do with my life. I wanted to have this discussion with Professor McGonagall. I know she would understand my difficulty. She would care. She would help me.

Seeing me at a loss, Professor Snape sighs. This won't be as quick a meeting as he'd perhaps hoped.

"What career do you want to _pursue_, Miss Granger?" he says bitingly.

Yes, what do you want to be when you grow up, Hermione? What are your plans? You're so _smart_, Hermione, you could be anything.

Yes, well, anything. That narrows it down, doesn't it? What does one do when one can do anything? I may be good at anything I apply myself to (which is most everything), but nothing comes easily, no subject more so than any other. My smarts take hours of study, hard work, and diligence to nurture. Nothing feels instinctual and right and perfect for _me_. Not like Quidditch or Defense for Harry, or jokes and inventing for Fred and George.

"Miss Granger?" Professor Snape prompts.

"Um, ah-an Auror?" I finally say, desperate. Again, a question. I never would have considered it a year ago, but with things escalating as they are...

His eyes pierce me in my seat and I look to my hands fidgeting with a stray thread on my robe.

"An... Auror," he says, "Is this inclination perchance due to your friend, Potter? Or the current... political clime?"

I shrug and shift lower in my seat. For once I don't know the answers to his questions, and I'm not itching to be called on. But his focus doesn't leave me.

"I'd encourage you to think long term, Miss Granger. Is there any occupation that interests you particularly?"

Bugger it all, why is he doing this to me? Can't he just nod and sneer or whatever I'm sure he'd love to do right now and let me leave? My mind goes back frantically through all those pamphlets, over the ones that sounded even part-way decent.

"A Healer? Unspeakable? Maybe I could apprentice in something?" I look at him, pleading. I think I'm even starting to tear up. Just this once I want him to agree with me. Direct me. Give me some indication of the right choice. I don't care which, at this point, I just want to get out of this room. Away from those eyes.

"All very respectable," he allows, "Academic. Suitable for someone with such a reputation for... intelligence."

Professor Snape studies me carefully as I sit there, miserable. His face is drawn in a deep frown.

"If I might make a suggestion, Miss Granger." He gives me no time to refuse. "Intelligence and diligence are advantageous in any career, and such decisions about your future are best made without any consideration to the... expectations of others, but instead with regard to whatever you are most... _passionate_." His lips and tongue carefully articulate that last word, and I follow them with my eyes, entranced.

"Organization, and an impressive concern for the welfare of others," Professor Snape says softly, "These are two qualities you possess which you may have overlooked, but which are very apparent. I suggest you think on what can be done with that."

I stare at him, astonished. It takes me a moment, but soon my mind is racing with possibilities. I'd never really considered... but yes, there is S.P.E.W., and I was truly passionate in my research for Buckbeak's trial... whatever good that did.

But also...

I never would have thought that Professor Snape could be the one to notice and point it out me. That he saw my heart while others only saw my brain. That he could see such positive attributes in me, see me as anything but the insufferable friend of Potter's, a know-it-all Gryffindor.

Maybe...

"Now unless you feel the need to waste more of my time, I'm inclined to put you down for Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, Herbology, Arithmacy, Ancient Runes, and... Potions. I wouldn't encourage it, but Professor McGonagall would have my head if I dare suggest you couldn't take as many subjects as possible without joining Mr. Lockheart in St. Mungo's."

Well. Maybe not.

"Not History of Magic?" I ask. He snorts.

"We all know Binns isn't worth the ectoplasm he's made of."

I reluctantly nod. I'd still like to take it, but after third year I understand the need to keep things within limits.

"Good. Now get out, I have to deal with another dunderhead far too soon."

Oh, but-

"Sir," I dare begin, hoping to capitalize on his seeming good mood—he'd actually been helpful!—"I was wondering... if you'd consider continuing Harry's lessons, sir, I think-"

His face clouds with a terrible rage. His chair clatters as he stands abruptly and turns away, his robe sweeping.

"Get out!" he bellows toward the wall. His voice echoes about the small room.

I quickly obey, giving the poor sod approaching the office a sympathetic wince. Oops.

Nonetheless, I find myself grinning as I make my way to Charms. What can be done with some organization and compassion, assisted by intelligence and determination?

The Ministry won't know what hit it once I'm through.

* * *

Fin.

* * *

A/N: Inspired by my own future-pondering angst and the common tendency in fanfic to put Hermione in a very academic career, compared to her canon career with the Ministry. At first I was like "wut?" too, but I'm starting to think it suits her character. Snape is there because he's awesome (and I totally ship that).

My apologies if anything is inaccurate to canon, or if this ficlet by chance resembles anyone else's.


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